Costs of Duty
by Lady Wisiaden
Summary: Percy always upheld his duties in seriousness, but living that way takes an enormous toll on him. Thank Merlin Oliver Wood shares his misery. Post-War. Literally.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Costs of Duty

**Author: **Wisiaden

**Disclaimer:** Do I look like I own Harry Potter? Really?

**Rating:** M (for sex and possible themes)

**Summary:** Percy always upheld his duties in seriousness, but living that way takes an enormous toll on him. Thank Merlin Oliver Wood shares his misery. Post-War. Literally.

**Pairings:** Percy/Oliver

**Warnings:** Masturbation for this chapter

**Author's Note:** All right, here we go. A new fanfic and it's multi-chaptered for once. I hope I'll be able to finish this. I don't think I want to write an extremely long one, but who knows where it'll end up? I'm a little hesitant on this chapter. I like it, but maybe the transitions might be weird…I hope the dashes I used to block off sections doesn't ruin the flow. I'm also a bit iffy on the masturbation scene. Never really attempted to write sexual scenes, and those I've written have never been posted. Well, I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you like and don't like. (Also, this _is_ Percy/Oliver…but the Percy/Oliver interactions are minimal in this chapter. No fears, I'll be getting to it.)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_He was numb_.

He was numb, he realised just barely. Then, he thought, I don't want to be numb. Percy forced himself to look down at his hand. His wand was clenched so tightly it might have snapped in two. _In. out. In. out._ Percy breathed and his fingers relaxed painfully. With a slight shake, he pulled off his glasses. He couldn't see a thing at all, only blurs. That was better. Percy methodically wiped his lens, all the while counting his breathing. Then, he replaced his glasses and the world reeled back into focus. Dimly, Percy registered the scattered mass of people all around him. They were all talking excitedly. The battle of the century was over, truly over. And Percy, even if he was still a bit numb, had his duties to do.

He straightened up his form, giving a slight tug and adjustment to his robes. There was blood, but Percy couldn't do a thing about that. He put on his best commanding face, a form of his previous Head Boy tone, and started directing people, organizing the chaos as effectively as he could. He set up stations, such as one for missing persons or one accounting casualties and fires that needed to be dealt with. It was just like that disastrous Quidditch episode some years back, Percy reflected, only bigger.

"Weasley!" A voice barked out. Percy didn't hear it and continued with his self appointed duty. There was too much to do.

"Weasley," the person called out again. Percy looked this time for the voice as he told an elderly witch where to go find missing family members. Professor McGonagall strode up to him, a stern look on her face. Her normally neat hair was slightly worn, and she had lost her hat, but she looked no worse for wear.

"Weasley," she repeated. "Didn't you hear me?"

"No, Professor," Percy said. "What is it?"

He looked back to the crowd of people before him, anxiously waiting for direction and news.

"What do you think you're doing?" McGonagall asked.

"I—" Percy bristled at the question. He had done nothing wrong! "As a ministry official, it is my duty to organize and deal with this—"

McGonagall cut him off, "not that! It's good what you're doing. People don't think straight after a battle."

"Oh," Percy said. He felt numb again. "Then, what is it?"

"Your family's looking for you."

"They are?" The words popped out of Percy's mouth before he could stop them. It surprised him.

"They are," McGonagall confirmed, raising her eyebrows. She clearly hadn't heard of the Weasley strife. "They're in the great hall—Or Molly is at least, that I know of. Best you get to them before she sets out on a rampage to find you."

Percy blinked. He looked back to the crowd. He couldn't leave now. There was still a giant mess unfolding.

"Er…"

"I'll take it from here," McGonagall interjected. Percy stood there awkwardly for a few seconds. After watching McGonagall smoothly addressed the next person waiting, Percy left her to handle the rest. He couldn't argue with that.

The great hall was turned into a makeshift hospital. There was a lot of motion as people hurried back and forth, fetching items and healing. Percy was only aware of this peripherally, concentrated on finding his family. He scanned the hall and spotted a few heads of red on the left side. Nervously, Percy counted the heads as he walked. His mum, his dad, George—Percy's heart seized. The image came up clear. Fred was gone. It was—Percy didn't manag—Fred was dead. He would have stumbled at the severity of the comprehension, now that he could think of it, but Percy was far too controlled for that. Thus, he was in his family's line of sight, guilt still hanging on him.

"Percy!" His mum exclaimed. Mrs. Weasley latched onto Percy, hugging and kissing him. "Are you all right? Is that blood?"

She was horrified at the bloodstain that Percy couldn't do a thing about. Percy glanced down at it.

"I'm fine, mum. It's not mine."

He returned her hug, uncomfortable with the gesture.

"Is everyone all right? Dad?"

Percy turned to his dad, unsure. He looked back at Percy.

"Good to see you"—there was a pause-"I'm going to check on Bill."

Percy didn't move as his dad brushed past him. It wasn't quite all right, even if Percy came back at the end.

"Sorry," his mum said. She looked torn between following her husband and staying with her son. "Bill—a werewolf attacked him. A loyalist to Greyback."

Percy paled at the implications.

"I-is he—he's not going to—" Percy stammered.

"We don't know. Fleur's with him. Ginny's with Harry and Ron—Charlie's good and, and…"

Mrs. Weasley couldn't speak. She just waved a hand at George. He was sitting next to Fred's lifeless body. Percy had never seen George that quiet or still before. It scared Percy. He hesitantly moved closer. Fred looked just like he was sleeping.

"George," Percy said softly, "how's your ear?"

George jumped, startled.

"It's fine," George said. Percy studied the bandage. It didn't look like it was soaked with blood.

"Good," Percy said. Then, George looked at Percy, at Fred and back to Percy again. He couldn't move his mouth it appeared. Percy braced himself.

"Fred shouldn't have died," George managed to get out. "You should have died, not him."

It was said in a perfectly level voice. George took a step back, stunned. By what he said to Percy or because Percy was there—Percy didn't know which. He didn't think he would ever get his sensation back. He felt so numb.

"I know," Percy replied flatly. He wished that George had yelled at him or called him names. He wouldn't even mind it if George punched him. He had failed his family duty. His brotherly duty.

"Will you leave?" George asked. He looked down at Fred. Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands.

"George, Percy—can't we—" she started.

"It's fine, mum," Percy interrupted.

He understood. He nodded at George. As he left, Percy bit the inside of his cheeks. It was his fault.

* * *

><p>Outside, Percy bumped into someone tall and thickly muscled.<p>

"Sorry," Percy apologized. He wasn't thinking straight. He was still numb, and he couldn't face his family. He needed to do something.

"It's fine. I've been getting bumped into all day. A fight'll do that to you after."

Percy recognized the slight burr in the voice. Oliver Wood smiled at him as if they didn't just finished a battle and ended a war, as if they were just two friends talking about a brawl brought on by alcohol.

"I see," Percy said. "You have a cut on your cheek."

Oliver pressed a hand to his cheek. Aside from that, Oliver looked fine. He had a broom in his hands.

"I didn't notice it," Oliver said. He shrugged his shoulder. "It's minor anyway."

Percy fingered his wand. He needed to do something. Really.

"I can heal it for you."

Then before Oliver could do or say a thing, Percy casted a small healing spell. It was one of the things he had learned early on, so he could heal the twins whenever they got into some adventure that led to scrapes and bruises. Percy's mouth went dry, and there was something stuck in his throat.

"Thanks," Oliver said. "you were always good at doing that. After a quidditch practice."

Percy tucked his wand away safely in his sleeve, and he wished he didn't because his hands had nothing to do. He picked at a loose thread on his robe.

"You were flying?" Percy eyed the broom. There were scorch marks running along part of the handle and some of the twigs looked bent.

"Aerial defence," Oliver replied.

"Ah," Percy said. "Are you looking for anyone?"

He glanced back at the great hall. He didn't really want to go back in there. It was a relief when Oliver replied, "No. My parents are safe. Still at home, didn't even get down here."

"That's good," Percy replied. The loose thread Percy was picking at had turned into one long string. Percy broke the thread and it dropped to the ground. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't that close to Oliver, not after they had graduated.

"Well, I'm going to look for McGongall. Do you know if she's still out there?" Percy finally said.

"Yeah, she is," Oliver pointed. "Over there—how's your family? I didn't ask yet, sorry."

Percy choked. Of all the questions! What could he say?

"They're, they're fine. Except Fred," Percy babbled. "Fred's dead. I killed him with a joke. It was ironic. You know, since I don't joke. Make jokes. And when I did, well, he died. Yeah, I killed him with a joke."

Oliver stared at him. Percy didn't know what he was thinking, blurting that out. He wasn't thinking straight at all. He needed something to do.

"Right," Percy hastily added. "Thanks. I'll see McGonagall then."

He retreated as fast as he could. Percy still felt rather numb. It was perpetual.

* * *

><p>Percy slept fitfully, dreaming of blinding flashes of green and red. Screams. Tumbling bricks and Fred falling, falling, falling…<p>

Then, he was wanking. Not that he wanted it. He needed it. He needed it, so Percy shoved his hand straight down his trousers. He was still trembling slightly from his nightmare, but it didn't stop Percy. It was a habit Percy acquired once he was old enough to masturbate and utilize it for reasons other than pleasure. He was wanking. For distraction. To block things out.

Percy skipped the fondling and the ritual teasing of a normal wank. He wrapped his fingers around his prick, sliding up and down desperately. He wasn't hard at all. Percy forced himself to draw up images—anything to get him going. He didn't want to think about it. About Fred and his family and the spells. He bit the inside of his cheeks. He hated being scared.

Penelope. Curly haired and big breasted. A death eater laughed at him. No, Percy thought. The witch he always saw at his favourite café. Long black hair, pouty lips. A flash of green, and Percy couldn't dodge it. The wizard who'd made a pass at him, Percy tried. What was it? _How'd you like to ride my broomstick? I can show you all sorts of tricks._ Fred's face, shocked. Broom. _Broom_. Oliver. Broom. Oliver Wood. Oliver fucking Wood!

Percy fleshed out the fantasy as fast as he could. He recalled how Oliver stood there, how he healed the cut on Oliver's cheek. He saw himself reaching out to touch the newly healed skin and the other man leaning into his hand. Percy groaned. He was finally hard. He stroked faster, picturing Oliver's form. Quidditch hands and slick muscles. How Oliver felt when Percy had bumped into him. He imagined the showers, and Oliver strutting around half naked. Oliver fucking him. Hard.

Percy came with a slight gasp. It wasn't the best he had, but it served its purpose. Dispassionately, Percy wiped his hands on the sheets and fished out his wand from beneath his pillow. He flicked a cleaning spell and a lumos. His room lighted up in a soft glow. Wanking wasn't the best thing to do, but it wasn't the worse either. Percy sighed.

At least it was better than ingesting copious amounts of sleeping draughts and alcohol. Percy was tempted to do just that, but he didn't fancy losing his mind. He liked being able to remember things and he didn't want to get addicted either: to alcohol or sleeping potions. After McGonagall extracted a promise that Percy would return to help after checking in with the ministry, Percy hurried to leave. At Hogsmeade, his mum almost spotted him, but Percy quickly apparated. He didn't think he could handle staying at the Burrow. There was too much tension. Percy was thankful he still had a flat to go back to. There were a lot of people who were staying elsewhere, their homes ruined. That warranted a drink, but he didn't. No, he had a senseless wanking session.

A quick Tempus informed Percy that it was 4:02AM. Percy sighed again. He might as well get up. He didn't think he would be able to fall back asleep, and there were still a lot of things to do. The wizarding world didn't mend itself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Costs of Duty

**Author:**Wisiaden

**Disclaimer:** Do I look like I own Harry Potter? Really?

**Rating:** M (for sex and possible themes)

**Summary:** Percy always upheld his duties in seriousness, but living that way takes an enormous toll on him. Thank Merlin Oliver Wood shares his misery. Post-War. Literally.

**Pairings:** Percy/Oliver

**Warnings:** None for this chapter.

**Author's Note:** It's been a while, hasn't it? It took so long for this chapter because I couldn't figure out how to start it. I had the basic idea in mind, but I didn't like how it turned out when I wrote it out each beginning lines. So, I stopped writing for a bit, and I finally figured out how to write it. Ah, but it's a bit short. Not quite sure if I like it though. Thanks for all the lovely reviews. I'm glad someone out there is enjoying whatever I'm churning out. Also, special thanks to "Anon". It's been a while since I read the books, and I actually know the first four books better than the last three. I have corrected the error you mentioned. Anyway, that's all I have to say, and have fun reading this chapter. It's not as depressing, honest.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Percy knocked on the door to the minister's office. A loud "come in" called out to him, and when Percy stepped into the office, he couldn't say he was entirely surprised at who sat in the desk. He was one of Dumbledore's men, the famous auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. The man was leafing through some files, but he lifted his head as Percy came to stand before him.

"Sir," Percy greeted, voice solemn and always proper. He was in a commendable form of straight stiff back and shoulder, long limbed and poised. It was a battle for his job, and Percy was determined to win. Shacklebolt, on the other hand was oblivious to Percy's anxious state, merely looked at Percy with mild curiosity. He gestured to the empty space in front of the desk and around Percy.

"Sorry," Shacklebolt coolly sated. "I don't have any chairs. They went missing."

"They are in the hall," Percy said. He saw a sportingly familiar piece of chair leg lodged into a crooked portrait. Evidently, even the ministry needed to be repair.

"Oh?" Shacklebolt said. He leaned back in his chair.

"They're not useable anymore," Percy replied. "But if you fill out Form 345A, you will be able to obtain new chairs. However, I'll advise against ordering anything fancy. The budget isn't quite what it is now."

Kingsley stared. Percy winced to himself and hurriedly added, "I mean—I'm fine with standing, sir. Now, you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did," Kingsley said slowly. "You have been…doing much more than people believe."

Percy didn't twitch at this though his heart gave a slight start. "Only what the ministry calls for."

Shacklebolt hummed, "two weeks suspension sounds good. Then, I want you back here. As my temporary assistant."

Percy gaped, "sir?"

Shacklebolt smiled. "You do good work."

"I'm not supporting you for minister," Percy said. It seemed too much of a good thing or a bribe. Shacklebolt tapped the files on his desk with his fingers and laughed.

"Understood. I'm only acting minister anyway. I don't want this job."

Percy's eyes narrowed, and he wondered if Shacklebolt suspected exactly what he did during the war. He left it alone, hoping it wouldn't come up and said, "it's a shame Bones isn't here."

Shacklebolt nodded. "She was amazing."

Then, Percy hesitated. He wasn't sure how to excuse himself, but Shacklebolt noticed and dismissed Percy with a hearty, "I'll see you in two weeks. I'll order some chairs too."

Outside the office, Percy exhaled a much needed breath. It hadn't turned out as bad as he imagined. Things were going to get tricky, and Percy hoped he covered his tracks up neatly. He didn't want anyone to know. As Percy considered that, he strode to the lift in brisk steps as he always did and into one of the most awkward situations in his life. Arthur Weasley entered at the sixth floor.

"Percy," Mr. Weasley said, voice evident in shock.

"Dad," Percy replied promptly. The descent was slow, and Percy nervously picked at the loose thread on the sleeve off his robe. It was the same thread from when Percy had talked to Oliver, still hanging on after a good wash. At this rate, Percy wouldn't have a left sleeve anymore.

"You didn't' come to the Burrow," Mr. Weasley said, stilting. It was likely the worst thing the man could have said because it pierced Percy straight thorough his nerves in guilt. He mulled over how to respond. It wouldn't go over well if Percy said he didn't think he was welcomed, even if it was true.

"I didn't know I was supposed to," Percy settled on at last. It wasn't as if his father would know he saw mum and purposely avoided her.

"Well, Molly worries," Mr. Weasley replied. There was an undercurrent that Percy ought to know he was supposed to come, and in all things deliberated Molly Weasly's worry was the crux. That which mattered most. Still, to Percy, it meant little in a tidal wave of tension and bitter feelings. He almost heaved a sigh of relief when the lift opened to the Atrium.

"I'll try to find time to visit," Percy said, desperate to leave. It was all Percy could say but like Mr. Weasley's worst thing to say, it was the worst thing Percy could have said.

"Try?" Mr. Weasley repeated. His mouth was open, incredulous. "Don't you think you could do more than try?"

"Dad, don't make a scene." Percy said, placating. He shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware as people watched, attention gathered all around the Atrium. Arthur Weasley exploded into the infamous Weasley temper at that. It was worse than Mrs. Weasley's though his was quieter comparably.

"A scene? Is that all you care about right now?" Mr. Weasley demanded to know. "Do you know how much we worried? Your mum has been crying almost every night, and you won't even come home! You can do more than try!"

Each word was said with a levity of controlled unchecked anger.

"I said I will try," Percy forcefully grounded out. His teeth were clenched tightly, and Percy barely noted how unsettled he was. It was a good thing Percy was a master of exiting scenes he couldn't deal with. He hightailed it out there with as much dignity as he could, the people in the Atrium be damned. He ignored his father's shout: "Percy! I'm not done here."

He darted into the bathroom near the exit out and cried briefly before recomposing himself for Hogwarts. At Hogwarts, Percy cajoled and wheedled a job away from any potential meeting with family members and associated family members. Avoidance, Percy decided, was the best policy for now.

* * *

><p>Percy pushed his glasses up on his nose more firmly though he didn't need it. His gaze landed on the window. It was a clear view of the lake. Then Percy thought of Fred because it didn't seem real and leaned heavily on the broom he found. He was using it to sweep the muggle way. He wondered when the funeral was because it should be coming up, it was the second day post war and he stopped there. George would probably hate it if he attended, and Percy couldn't see Fred expressing a desire to have pompous Percy at the event.<p>

"And here," a voice broke Percy's reverie, "I thought you'll be doing work.

Percy turned, grateful for the interruption. Oliver was standing at the top of the stairs to the floor. He didn't think he'd see Oliver again.

"Well, I, um—" Percy blushed. It wasn't for his wanking but for the crude manner in which he informed Oliver that he killed Fred. He didn't know how the other man took it. Oliver held a special spot for the twins—they were his beaters after all.

"What are you doing here?" Percy asked, steadying his voice. His eyes were stuck on the hairline cracks on the floor though.

"Was told you might need a hand up here," Oliver said. "Only six of you here, everywhere else has at least ten."

"Oh," Percy said. "We're managing fine."

"Well, I came to help, but all I see is the improper usage of a broom."

Percy's weight was crushing the ends of the broom. He quickly pulled back. The ends were completely bent out of shape, forming a soft mass of 'L's. Percy weakly chuckled. He was sweeping by hand because he needed a numbing chore to do (Penny introduced to him to the act of cleaning mindlessly). He had even cleared out the rubble to one side by hand too.

"It's not improper," Percy lightly objected. "It's perfectly normal for muggles to utilize brooms in such a way for efficient cleaning."

"You're making it up," Oliver accused, but he was smiling. Percy shrugged and demonstrated. It wasn't as effective with the bristles all bent. Oliver looked pained, "I don't care if it's just an old Cleansweep, but that's just wrong."

"Just help me clean."

They worked in silence before Oliver spoke. "I saw Ron earlier, and he said you haven't been home. When do you plan to go see them?"

The broom in Percy's hand fell with a clatter, and Percy swore. He wasn't expecting that.

"Perce?"

Oliver was concerned. He picked up the broom and held it out to Percy. Percy grabbed it, but Oliver didn't let go of the broom.

"Oliver?" Percy tugged fruitlessly. It was tight in Oliver's grip.

"You're still the same, I see," Oliver said. He released the broom. It was slack in Percy's hand, and it clattered onto the floor again.

"What?" Percy looked at Oliver, confused.

"Your eyes," Oliver pointed out. "They're red. You've been crying, haven't yeh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Percy evaded. He grabbed the broom and continued sweeping. Oliver sighed, "I know we drifted apart, Perce, what with me at Puddlemere and you at the ministry, but I haven't been your dormmate for seven years for nothing. I can always tell when you cry."

Percy was quiet.

"You know you can talk to me if you ever need an ear," Oliver added. They worked in silence again and at the end of it, Percy looked at Oliver.

"Sunday," he said.

"Sorry?"

"Sunday," Percy repeated. "I'm thinking Sunday—the Weasleys' Sunday dinners."

Oliver considered what Percy was telling him and nodded.

"Why don't you come over to my place after? It's been a while since we've got together."

Percy couldn't speak for several seconds.

"It's—it'd be late," Percy declined. He was already grateful that Oliver was offering him a refuge in his words.

"It's fine," Oliver waved Percy off.


End file.
